A No Fuss Birthday
by Vyctori
Summary: For Shadow-Dragon5. FE7. All Erk wanted to do that day was sit and read his book in peace. But when Serra found out it was his birthday, his plans were changed...forcibly.


_A/N for Shadow-Dragon5:_ Happy birthday, Shad! ::smiles:: See, I didn't forget your birthday (you wouldn't let me)! Hope you enjoy this!

_A/N for everyone else:_ This fic is a birthday present for one of the best friends anyone could have, Shadow-Dragon5. I admit that this story is probably anachronistic, in that I highly doubt people made the same fuss about birthdays as they do right now. So really, I guess you could call this slightly AU. But anyway.

**Disclaimer:**

I no own.

You no sue.

Good for me.

Better for you. ::shakes fist::

Something my subconscious gave me . . . it sounds slightly familiar, though, so if someone else wrote this previously, credit to them! ::sweatdrop::

Enjoy this once-in-a-lifetime one-shot from me!

-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-

Listening to the fire crackle beside him, Erk sighed in contentment. He was downstairs in the Ostian kitchens, sitting next to the fire and reading a book he had been waiting to look at for days. He had just finished escorting his charge to Ostia and was resting for a week or two before setting off again to be reunited with his teacher.

Despite the fact that there were cooks and servants rushing all over the place preparing food for the midday meal, Erk felt a strange sensation of peace enfold him. It was just him and the script on the page and that was the way he liked things.

"_Erky_!"

Erk inwardly groaned and covered his eyes with a hand. So much for peace.

"Yes, Serra?" he asked, shutting the book on his forearm to keep his place.

"I have a question for you!" she positively sang as she pranced into the room. "So you'd better answer it."

"What is it?" The sooner he answered, the sooner she'd go away.

"When's your birthday?"

". . . What?"

"When's your birthday?" Serra nearly bounced on the spot. "Come on, silly, it's not that hard of a question, especially for a scholar like you!"

"Actually, it's today." Erk looked at his page to memorise his spot and shut the book with regret. It looked like she wasn't going to just ask the question and go away like he had ever so foolishly hoped.

"What, _really_? Erk, why didn't you _tell me_?" Her voice was accusing.

"I didn't want anyone to make a fuss over me," was his calm reply. "Now, would you mind letting me read my book?"

"Ooh, I have to go get you a present! Come on, Erk! You come help me decide!" She darted forward and grabbed his arm.

"You don't need to get me anything," he said quickly. "Besides, aren't birthday presents normally a surprise?"

"Well, if you insist on springing these things on a girl at the last minute, you're just going to have to take what you can get!" Half dragging him out of his seat, Serra skipped on ahead.

"But I don't _want_ anything," Erk grumbled to himself as he allowed himself to be pulled along. Once Serra got an idea into her head, usually the best thing to do was go along with her idea. It was over faster that way, and it saved having to argue with her about why her plans were not the greatest.

------------------

"Now what shop do you want to go in first, Erk?" Serra asked him as they walked through the rather small merchants' section of Ostia. "Ooh, there's a bookstore! Let's go in there!"

She didn't even let me answer, he thought gloomily as he followed her with weary steps into the shop.

"Now, let's see. . . ." Serra started looking around at the shop's offerings.

"Hmm . . . _The Laws of Anima_." Erk picked up the leather-bound tome in his hand and weighed it. "This looks rather interesting."

"You don't want something boring like _that_," Serra informed him. "I know! Someone just put down that bard's best poetry into a book. I bet you'd like that to read instead of your dull old textbooks." She pulled _The Laws of Anima_ out of his hands and set it back on the shelf.

"Er, what bard?" Erk asked with a wistful look at his desired book.

"You know—the really famous one! Ah, here it is!" Grabbing the slim novel, Serra brought the book to the clerk. "We'll take this, please!"

"_The Aches of Love_, is it?" she asked. "It costs twenty gold; it's one of our more popular books."

"Perfect!" Serra looked in her purse. "Oh. I only have ten gold. Looks like you're going to have to buy it for me, Erky!"

"But it's supposed to be my birthday present!" Erk knew protesting would get him nowhere, but he felt obliged to try.

Serra looked impatient. "Oh, I'll pay you back later, skinflint. Come on, just pay up already!"

Resigned once again, Erk pulled the necessary amount out of the purse tied to his belt and handed it over. The clerk gave him the book and shortly after the two left the shop.

"Now where should we go?" Serra wondered.

Erk didn't bother to answer, having learned from the last time that it was simply a waste of breath.

"A cloth merchant! Perfect!" Serra grabbed his arm in a steel grip and hauled him through the door before he could so much as take a step in the proper direction.

As soon as he entered the store and Serra released him, Erk stopped still in the doorway. The small shop was crammed to bursting with racks of cloth and all of them looked much more expensive than his or Serra's money combined could afford.

"Here, Erk, look at this!" Serra dumped a length of cheery yellow cloth into his arms. "This will look _great_ with your hair—really set it off!"

"But Serra, I hate yellow. You know that." Erk looked for a table or counter on which to set his load.

"Don't be ridiculous! You'll look smashing," she assured him. "Trust me. I know these things."

"But, Serra . . . !"

"It'll make a wonderful cloak for you. Here, we'll take this." Serra ripped the cloth from him and gave it to the amused shop attendant. "How much?"

The man named a price that made Erk's knees buckle. Looking in his purse, he discovered that, if he used his entire payment he received for escorting Serra to purchase the cloth, he would have exactly three gold left.

"Serra, I can't possibly afford—" he began.

"Oh, don't be silly," she interrupted. "It's your birthday! Prices don't matter!"

"Serra . . . !"

"He'll take it," Serra said to the attendant, overriding him.

It took all his self-control not to moan as he watched his so very hard earned gold disappear into the attendant's pockets . . . all for a length of cloth in a colour he hated.

Dumping the cloth back in his arms, Serra darted out into the street again. Erk, his vision rather impaired by his load, did his best to follow her. He caught up to her with a little difficulty, since it was late morning and the streets were beginning to fill up with people going about their usual routines.

Deftly jumping over a gutter, he heard Serra say, ". . . hungry, since it's just about lunchtime. Let's go get some food from that pastry-seller over there!"

"Serra, I can't afford—darn it." She was already out of earshot.

He came up to her again as she was buying two meat-stuffed pastries, miraculously with her own money. Holding onto them with one hand, she grabbed one of his elbows and pulled him into a small side street. She immediately found the cleanest doorway and leaned against it.

"There! You set your presents down on that box." She pointed at the dusty object. "A little dirt won't hurt them. Now, let's have our lunch and then we can go and get you even more presents!"

Taking the pastry from her, Erk sighed. "Serra."

"Hm?" Serra looked up from inspecting the quality of her pastry. "What is it, Erky?"

"Serra, when I said I didn't want anyone to make a fuss over my birthday, I meant it," he began.

"Oh, people never mean it when they say that," Serra interrupted.

Erk leaned over and covered her mouth with his hand. "Please, let me say my piece, all right?"

Wide-eyed with surprise, Serra nodded.

Erk removed his hand. "I really would have been happy just to sit in Lord Uther's kitchen and read all day. I don't often get a chance to do that, so I was really looking forward to it. I don't need presents, either; I'm one of those people who can be perfectly happy with access to food, clean water, the clothes on his back, and a nearby library or bookstore.

"To be honest, I hate shopping. I really didn't want to come out and spend the morning like this. So I was wondering if we could just go home?"

Serra looked crestfallen. She stared at the half-eaten pastry in her hand, shoulders slumped. "I . . . I'm sorry, Erk. I didn't know. I was just so excited that it was your birthday that I thought you'd really like it if I got you some presents." She used the back of her free hand to rub at her eyes.

"Serra. . . ." Awkwardly, Erk put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't cry, now. I, er. . . ." —he paused, embarrassed— "even though I didn't enjoy the shopping part, I still liked spending time with you. You're good company."

"Really?" Serra looked at him, still slightly teary, the pastry in her hand forgotten.

"Really." He sighed and pulled her closer. "Even if you do chatter far too much."

Serra beamed. "Oh Erky, that's so kind of you! That's probably the nicest thing you've ever said to me!" She cuddled against him for a moment before stepping back. "You know what we should do now?"

"What?" he asked, feeling oddly tender towards her.

"We should go back and get that book I saw at the bookstore that I really liked and then go back to Lord Uther's kitchen and spend the afternoon in there!" Serra nodded.

"That's a good idea, Serra." Erk gave her an exceedingly rare smile. "I'd like that."

"Great! But you're going to have to help me buy it, because it costs ten gold and I spent some of my gold on lunch! Okay, Erk?" She smiled and bounced slightly, full of energy once more.

"Well . . . okay." Erk sighed. He could only hope that Lord Uther or Lord Hector would reimburse him for the morning. He had a feeling that they would understand. . . .

"All right then! Let's go, Erky!" Serra half-jogged out of the side street, already flitting toward the bookstore.

And Erk, purchases in hand and lunch between his teeth, once again smiled slightly and followed.


End file.
